The Devil is an Ass

by Ben Jonson

Wit. It may well be, Sir. All heads ha’ not like growth.

Fit. The good mans grauity, 65 That left you land, your father, neuer taught you Theſe pleaſant matches?

Wit. No, nor can his mirth, With whom I make ’hem, put me off.

Fit. You are Reſolu’d then?

Wit. Yes, S^r.

Fit. Beauty is the Saint, You’ll ſacrifice your ſelfe, into the ſhirt too? 70

Wit. So I may ſtill cloth, and keepe warme your wiſdome?

Fit. You lade me S^r!

Wit. I know what you wil beare, S^r.

Fit. Well, to the point. ’Tis only, Sir, you ſay, To ſpeake vnto my wife?